The first three were okay. Once I got to the point where my whole body was on the stairs, it got harder. My legs were kind of in my way because I didn’t have enough control over them to keep them from holding me back. Not only was I pulling my body weight up, but I was also trying not to get my feet caught on the stairs as I advanced. Slowly.
I knew from years of traversing them that there were nine stairs for the first set, then what would have been two strides to get around the landing, then six more to get to the second floor. After another landing, there were thirteen more steps to the third floor. By the time my arms had reached the first landing, I was completely and totally wiped out, and I still needed to pull up the rest of my body.
Sweat was pouring from my forehead and into my eyes, and I was panting so hard, it was making my head swimmy. My muscles burned with the effort to pull myself even another six inches. If the stairs hadn’t been open—giving me a place to get a good grip—there was no way I would have made it as far as I had. I pulled again, bringing my shoulders up to the level of the last step, and that’s when I didn’t have anything else to grab in order to go any farther.
Collapsing onto the stairs with my head on the landing, I lay there and felt like I was going to pass out. My eyes closed, and despite how uncomfortable lying on the stairs was, I could have fallen asleep right then and there.
No…can’t do that. Gotta get Rumple…
I took the hypodermic out of my mouth, wiped some drool off the edge and tried to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do now.
Just shove it in there and do it, I told myself.
Easier thought than accomplished.
I looked from my arm to the needle and then from the needle to my arm. They didn’t seem interested in magically joining up, so I took a few deep breaths, put the tip of the needle up against my skin, right over the previous bruise and…
… and just sat there, staring.
“Dammit,” I grumbled to myself. “Stop being such a pussy.”
I closed my eyes, took another breath, and shoved the needle into my arm.
“Mother FUCKER!” I screamed. It fucking hurt! I growled and groaned and wanted to yank the damn thing out, but I knew if I did, I would never, ever be able to get it back in. So I gritted my teeth, squeezed my eyes shut, and shoved down on the plunger.
I yelled out a few more choice words and yanked the now empty hypodermic needle from my skin. There was some blood there—but it was only a spot. I must not have done too bad a job of it.
I knew within a few seconds that it was working.
Heart pounding, blood racing, hands shaking—but definitely ready to grab hold of anything I could reach—I tossed the damn needle away and started pulling again. I grabbed the edge of the next flight of stairs and yanked up as hard as I could, muscles screaming. I scraped my chest slightly on the edge of one stair, but it just burned a little. My eyes kept blinking over and over again, and I just tried to ignore everything around me but the next stair.
And the next…
And the next…
I pulled and pushed until my legs made it to the second landing, where I had to pause and force myself not to throw up. Then I reached out and grabbed the first step of the final flight. Pull, shift, groan; pull, shift, groan…
Another step.
Another.
The top.
I could have cried in relief, but I still had to get to the end of the short hallway.
Pull, shift, groan.
Don’t stop.
Gotta contact Rumple.
I flipped over on my back and tried pushing myself along the floor that way. At least the change in position was using a slightly different set of muscles, because the ones I had been using were just about done. It didn’t work, though, because sitting upright was making me dizzier. I flopped back down on my stomach and used my elbows.
Pull, shift, groan.
One more pull with my fingers digging into the plush carpet brought me to the doorway of my room. I had to stop again, panting and wheezing and feeling like my heart was trying to burst right out of my chest. My hands were shaking so badly, it was getting harder and harder to propel myself along, but I didn’t let myself rest too long. I was too close to my goal.
Contact Rumple.